4/02/2015

Shouldn't Have Washed My Hair in the Toilet

I was pleased when my first date with Greta progressed to make-out-in-my-car phase. We were parked at the side of the road near some woods and were at it for a little bit when she moved away and pulled a hair out of her mouth. She asked, "Is it yours or mine?"

It was pretty dark and I couldn't tell. I also couldn't see how it mattered very much, so I said, "I don't know," and we went back to it.

Soon after, she leaned away again and pulled another hair out of her mouth. Bear in mind that at this time, I didn't have a beard or any other facial hair. She said, "Another one. I think it's yours."

"Okay," I said, thinking that it was just some fluke. We kissed some more until she coughed into my mouth, pulled away, and gagged out the car window.

"Another hair!" she said, "Stop shedding!"

"How do you know it's mine?" Hers was longer than mine and it fell around her face. In all likelihood, it was hers.

"It doesn't taste like mine."

"You... taste your hair?"

She didn't answer that but she said, "Stop shedding. Can you do that?"

Her mouth was on mine before I could answer. Then it apparently happened again. She said, "Oh my god! I'm gonna puke."

She tore out of the car and ran a few yards into the woods aside the road. It was a while before she came back and when she did she didn't look so hot.

As I drove her home, she puked out my car twice more. We never went out again.

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